Conversations
by cheshireSorrows
Summary: It's a conversation between two strangers in a bar. Because of a breakup he didn't see coming and alcohol. Mainly because of alcohol. God bless the beautiful bartender. Modern one-shot. Warning: Drunk Darcy is not regency friendly.


**STANDARD DISCLAIMER APPLIES. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.**

**Warning: **The creative license badge is being waved around. Drunk Darcy is definitely not regency friendly.

.

Conversations

.

"We need to talk," the worst words anyone in a relationship could ever hear, and paired with a look of resolve, Darcy knew it was coming before it even hit.

The rest of the conversation was a blur, the only thing he was sure of was that it happened in a taxi and as soon as it was over, Emma got out and left. He forgot why he was even in the taxi in the first place, but the driver seemed to know where to take him from the distraught, confused expression on his face.

Trusting the guy that was going to get paid by the distance wasn't the smartest idea he's ever had, but dating a friend wasn't a very smart idea either.

Eventually, the taxi stopped, the meter at an obscene amount and a bar sitting just outside the car door.

Good man. Maybe trusting him was the best idea yet.

Without much thought, his wallet got lighter as he got out of the vehicle, and as if in a dream, he walked into the establishment.

To the taxi driver's credit the bar wasn't as dodgy looking as he originally thought it would be, and to his relief, it was mostly empty with a few people milling around, drinking beers and playing pool as they enjoyed the not-so-terrible music the place was playing.

In an almost stupor, he walked up to the bar, slipped onto a stool and ordered a few.

A few to forget his very recent re-entry into singlehood, how much money he just threw at the taxi driver, where he was and then another round to forget his name and dignity.

To be fair it was the first break-up he'd ever experienced. He was allowed to go to a bar and drink it.

If Richard saw him now, he'd never live it down – practically lying on the counter, hugging a bottle and mumbling to himself.

He was jarred briefly as a girl, maybe eighteen, stumbled beside him, waving some notes in the air to get the bartender's attention.

Confused, Darcy looked around and finally realized the once empty bar was now buzzing with people. Looking down at the bottle in his hand, he shrugged and took another swing. Time moved differently when your life felt like it just swirled down the drain.

"Hey you," the girl slurred a bit, "why's so glum?"

The alcohol made his lips loose, "Got dumped."

"That sucks," she informed, before turning towards the counter again, calling, "Lizzy, another drink! And one for my new friend here, he got his heart blown out of his chest!" Throwing an arm haphazardly over his shoulders, the girl asked, "It really hurt didn't it? Were you guys like almost down the aisle and all? Did you give her your heart, and she stomped on it? Or he?"

A shot slid his way, and with little regard of whether or not it was for him, Darcy gulped it down.

"Lydia," a voice interrupted, "leave him alone."

It might've been the alcohol, but no woman had ever looked that good in beer vision goggles. But it wasn't like that mattered; here he was nursing way too many bottles and looking, for all intents and purposes like a sad slob of a man-child. Even in his work suit.

The blazer was discarded somewhere…and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, his tie hanging loosely around his neck, and somewhere along the line he'd spilt something on his shirt and there was a stain. For some reason, the front of his pants were slightly wet too – probably because the cold beers sometimes didn't make it the entire journey.

Just like his relationship. Who knew taking a taxi with your girlfriend – _ex –_ girlfriend would lead to getting dumped? Certainly not him.

It was a shame too, Emma was perfect and – nope, nope, anotherrrr driink for meeee –

"Whoa, hey, slow down there," the bartender warned, grabbing his elbow to slow the descent at which the neck of the bottle reached his lips. His muscle control almost shot, his arm was limp beyond his control, and he puckered his lips trying to close the distance without moving his arm to do it.

The girl, Lydia, laughed and declared, "I like you! Lizzy, let him drink!"

"My name isn't Lizzy," he said.

The bartender sighed. "Unfortunately it's mine."

"My name's Darcy. Well it's Will, but I like Darcy more. And you can't have that name too because it would be strange for both of us to be Darcy -"

Lydia continued to laugh, patting him on the back. "Oh, that breakup really destroyed you, huh? Or are you always this fun? I hope so; otherwise most of our friendship will be spent drunk, not that I'd mind that."

Lizzy, if his alcohol addled mind remembered correctly (because her name couldn't be Darcy too), shooed the girl away, saying to him, "Please tell me you live close enough that you don't have to drive home."

"Darcy," he reminded (for his benefit or hers, he wasn't sure anymore), "and I don't know. I got in a taxi and the guy dropped me off here."

She gave a frustrated sigh. "Damn Wickham, if he didn't bring in business, I'd kill him." Shaking her head, she continued to mumble before calls down the counter brought her attention elsewhere.

He watched her go, wondering vaguely if maybe he had gotten their names mixed up and his name was Lizzy instead of hers. When she came close enough, he'd given up mentally arguing with himself and asked her, "What's your name?"

Between filing an order of some pretty coloured drink with a tiny umbrella, she glanced up and answered shortly, "Liz."

Darcy nodded, and as he watched her interact with some of the patrons – managing cheerful smiles, multiple conversations and apparently not getting annoyed at the number of people calling her name, he came up with a brilliant idea (actually the idea was probably the alcohol, but the words came out of his mouth so technically it was all his): "Liz, how do you date?"

"Excuse me?"

"How do you date?" Darcy asked again, slower.

Maybe the room was too loud? If she asks again, he decided, I'll shout it, nice and slow. Even in his less than stellar condition, he could see the perplexity in her eyes (they were hundreds of times more expressive than anyone else's he'd ever seen – the beer and the shots he took agree with him) before he continued, "I'm a sad man-child with questionable stains on his work clothes, and I don't know how to date."

And there it was, full on bewilderment, if it weren't for another woman, a co-worker, appearing beside her with an offhand greeting; Liz might have stayed frozen in front of him with her jaw unhinged.

"Never mind," he declared, "you're making saliva puddles on the floor. You probably don't know how to date either…"

Apparently Darcy came off more offensive then he thought when Liz's face flushed and she retorted, "I know how to date, way better than you I'm sure!"

To her surprise, the man before her brightened considerably, and leaning over the counter, he whispered loudly, "Will you teach me?"

"Wow," Liz murmured, "she must've really done a number on you…"

He sunk back into his seat. "Yeah…well, kind of...Emma was my friend, friend for years. There were three of us, me, her and Ed – and I thought she loved me but she really loved him…but it wasn't like they were cheating – he doesn't know yet, but he should because she's amazing and they deserve each other and I shouldn't have tried to be with her in the first place and…can I have something else to drink?"

She slid him a glass with transparent liquid, it was probably water, but he didn't specify what he wanted to drink anyway so he drank it hoping it secretly turned into vodka as it hit his stomach.

Nope. The lack of aftertaste? Disappointment, definitely disappointment.

Sighing, he lay on the counter.

Maybe it was just the general sadness of his condition because really, he was as sad as it got, but Liz sighed, and he felt her pat his shoulder in comfort.

"It's okay you know, there's a lot of people alone during the holidays -"

"Oh god, it's the holidays," he groaned. It would've been the first year he finally gave up a holiday and spent it with Emma – he'd even managed to get out of dinner with Aunt Catherine and encouraged Georgiana to spend the day with her friends instead, and now…The long suffering groan seemed to never end, and more out of habit did the phrase, "There, there," make its way into his hearing.

"Do you always get saddled with losers who get dumped during the holidays?"

"Well I'm a bartender so…yeah, basically…"

"So does that mean you know how to date…?" When she raised her brows, he asked, tentative yet eager, "So you'll teach me then? Please say yes."

"Sure," she gave in, "go ahead, just nothing weird okay?"

He paused, his brows knitted in concentration as he asked slowly, "And what would count as weird…because I'm socially inept so I'll probably offend you at some point without meaning to."

Turning to look at him, her eyes narrowed, gauging him at a glance whether he was being honest or not. His pupils were dilated, and happy people (along with angry people) would rarely ever lie, add drunk people to the list and she saw more honest people at work then she would at church. "I'll tell you when, alright?"

"Alright…what do you do when you see someone attractive?"

Her lips twisted into a thoughtful knot, her brow furrowing before she asked, "How attractive?"

"That matters?" He asked in wonderment, his eyes widening.

"Sure," she answered, "there's normal good looking: you notice them and maybe you notice them again to make sure, then there's Mother of Gene pools, stop whatever it is you're doing and try not to have your ovaries explode."

Fascinated, and eager, he answered, "Tell me both, just in case."

"Well the first one is easier because they look easier to talk to so you kind of just have to avoid being creepy, but the second one's a bit…you might have to get them drunk first…"

Looking down at another shot that made its way to him, he between it and her. "Should I take notes? I feel like I should take notes."

She shook her head, chuckling, and when it seemed like she was walking away from him, he asked, "And how do you approach them, drunk or not? Besides staring at them and willing them to come and talk to you with your romantically incompetent mind rays?"

Liz spluttered before bursting out laughing. "Did you just say that?"

"I did." For his mostly drunken state, he was as solemn as a grave. And then he hiccupped and reached for a shot, which she pulled away from him.

"You speak to them, obviously."

He nodded in understanding, and at yet another sign of her leaving, he asked, "How do you make your mouth do words? I forget to English sometimes, or I get fluent in Offensive and then everyone hates me. Not that I mind that but you know, it'd be nice not to have everyone hate me."

From behind him, a blonde called, "I don't hate you drunk Man-child!"

Automatically, he answered, "Thank you." Back at Liz, he whispered, "I don't remember who she is…"

Her lips pulled at that, but anything she may have wanted to say was forgotten as he continued to ask, "Do you know how to fix bad word vomit?"

She looked like she wanted to say something else, tease him maybe, that playful look in her eyes wasn't imagined, or a part of the alcoholic haze he was currently in, at least he thought so. But she chose instead to reply, "Practice of course."

For some reason his hand drifted over his chest and for awhile he said nothing which was pretty surprising considering how talkative he had been since his arrival.

Wondering at this oddness, Liz asked, slightly panicked, "Are you…having a heart attack?"

"No," was his immediate response, "just heart palpitations, it happens occasionally."

"Are you sick?" she asked warily.

He shook his head no. "People make me nervous. Especially nice people because then I certainly don't wish to offend them then."

"That's thoughtful of you," she offered.

His smile was wan, and she guessed quite easily that regardless of his intentions in the past, he offended them anyway.

Liz just wanted to hug the poor guy.

"How do I let people know I'm interesting enough to date?" He asked suddenly, "I'm concerned I'm too dull for a relationship. Everyone is so interesting," he insisted passionately, "and I am basically a pile of mashed potatoes."

"You're plenty interesting."

"_You're _interesting," he disagreed, "that blonde girl that drinks more than I do, and that taxi driver, and that girl that dumped me and the guy that she loves more than me, they're all interesting, and I'm potatoes. _Mashed_."

"Well you know…potatoes are called the Diamond of the Table."

"See, you know interesting things. You're interesting Liz."

Chuckling, she patted his hand. "Thanks Darcy."

A look of wonderment clear on his face. "You remember my name."

"Well your name is Will, but you prefer Darcy though don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah I do...but you...you remember my name, Liz?"

"Of course," she said with another laugh, "I'm impressed that you remember mine."

"I remember people's names," he argued.

"Really? What's that girl's name?" She pointed to the blonde, who upon noticing their attention waved in a wide arc and grinned. "Sis, Man-child, we should do this more often!"

Once he turned back around to face her, he deadpanned. "That's not fair."

"Fine, how about…your ex? What's her name?"

He squinted at her. "I can't…." He brightened. "I forgot her name! I am sufficiently drunk!" he declared to the cheers of the random people behind him.

"Darcy, have you ever gotten drunk before?"

"Not at all," he answered cheerfully, "why?"

"You'll probably regret this in the morning then…"

"I can guarantee you that I won't," he declared firmly. "Water please."

"Oh, so you've got your senses about you then?" She filled up a pitcher and he drank all of it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and answered casually, "Yes, I think so…"

"You think so?"

"Yes…but I was wondering Liz..."

"What were you wondering Darcy?"

"When would it be the right time to ask a person if they were single?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know, you kind of check them out I guess – do they have a ring, has any of their friends mentioned a significant other, have they been constantly checking their phone for text messages? That kind of thing I suppose."

"None of that has happened," he informed slowly.

"Well if this is pertaining to me, that's because the answer to that question would be as single and free as a bird," she said with a shake of her head, "trust me you aren't the only one with dating problems."

"So…you don't really know how to date either?"

Liz laughed. "Yeah, you can say that."

He seemed to pout for a second before offering, "We can practice together if you want."

**A/n: **So I'm supposed to be doing NaNoWriMo…but I'm tired so this story happened xD its weird and random and I'm sorry.


End file.
